


Charlesia Villeneuve Collège de Grammaire pour les Jeunes Femmes

by bahorelsexual (KissedKitten)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Femslash February, Genderbending, Multi, god this took forever to get through, it's the last day of february it still counts, spot the Thenardier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissedKitten/pseuds/bahorelsexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Le Bugue was a tiny, tiny town east of Bordeaux, France. The town was home to no more than 3,000 people, covering barely twenty-nine square kilometres. Apart from its story-book appearance and quaint charm, the only thing keeping this town on the map was the grammar school up on the hill, Charlesia Villeneuve Collège de Grammaire pour les Jeunes Femmes. A school that was soon to be at the mercy of a group of students with big ideas and a tendency to mess with the system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlesia Villeneuve Collège de Grammaire pour les Jeunes Femmes

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is my first multichapter, completely unbeta'd, i just wanted to get it online before february was over, and i succeeded!! barely
> 
> p.s. sorry i suck at summaries!!

Le Bugue was a tiny, tiny town east of Bordeaux, France. The town was home to no more than 3,000 people, covering barely twenty-nine square kilometres. Apart from its story-book appearance and quaint charm, the only thing keeping this town on the map was the grammar school up on the hill, _Charlesia Villeneuve Collège de Grammaire pour les Jeunes Femmes_ \- Some Old French Woman's Grammar College for Young Ladies. Apparently there were 600 students living on campus, with about half of them being in year eleven and twelve.

The school was invite only, unless you were willing to fork out thousands of dollars for a single semester. The college was dependent on donations from the wealthy families of the snobby little schoolgirls who attended throughout the year, most of which were currently loitering in the grass courtyards. It was a fairly warm, dewy morning - for France in October, of course. The sun was barely peeking out from behind the clouds, each student trying to soak up as much sun as possible before class.

It wouldn't have been even nine in the morning, and Bahorel had already been on four flights, seven bus trips, and was now sitting in a taxi outside her new school. The trip had been hectic - delayed flights, missed buses, even a racist remark that ended with a black eye and two broken nails. She would be completing her last year of schooling in a pretentious boarding school, after eleven years of a barely-adequate education in Uruguay. She was definitely going to miss the dirty countryside of Montevideo, her childhood friends, and getting muddy on the weekends. Judging by the appearance of the girls on the grass, with their curls and pastel skirts, their wouldn't be much 'mud' at this school.

Her brooding was interrupted by a meek, "Miss?" from the front of the taxi, "Would you like any help with your bags?" The driver was a small man with thinning orange hair, and a greasy moustache. He was already charging her extra for the early hour, Bahorel knew his help would cost extra.

"Thanks, but I think I can manage," she mused, handing him what was due. He held out his hand for a tip, but that wasn't going to happen. She listened to this man prattle on into his cellphone about his illicit business for over half an hour. Bahorel was out of the cab at the first possible chance, dragging her luggage behind her.

The girls on the grass were all in what she assumed to be a uniform. It was a blue skirt, laced up at the back. Under the shirts was a white blouse, the type that had puffy sleeves and ruffles at the chest. Done up with blue buttons, the shirt was topped up with a bow. To top it all off, the uniform included knee-high socks under a pair of black flats. Bahorel wasn't usually one to feel under-dressed, but wearing a pair of deep green, velvet jeans and a white tank left her feeling ridiculously casual. Standing in the courtyard with her suitcase, she was acutely aware of the other girls watching her. Her skin crawled under the gazes of these students. Some were scrutinising her, others were offering comforting looks - they had all been in her position before.

Before she could even take two steps towards administration, a small girl bounded up to her side. Bahorel was enveloped in her tiny arms - shockingly she had an iron grip. This girl hadn't even spoken to her and already planted a kiss on either cheek, leaving a light pink mark. It wasn't awkward as such, just rather unexpected. The pixie-like girl took Bahorel's hands in her own, and introduced herself.

"I'm Jean Prouvaire," she piped. Her voice was sweet, like blueberries. Jean had strawberry-blonde hair up in a braid, thin features, and large, green-grey eyes. She was wearing the uniform, though had added an assortment of flowers into her braid and around her buttons.

"Bahorel, ah, Vivienne Bahorel," the new girl replied. She was half lead, half dragged towards one of the buildings - all the while Jean was chattering excitedly ahead of her. Bahorel tried to pay attention, but this small girl was talking too quickly.

"And that's some of the dorms, I don't know which you'd be staying in yet, but wouldn't it be cool if you were in mine? Then we'd be roommates! That would be a lot of fun, I love meeting new people and I think you're really great already," She just kept talking.

They passed the music rooms, science block, English classrooms, and were waiting outside the administration office - across from the art department. Gazing into one of the classrooms, Bahorel spied two other girls spending some time in the art rooms before class started. They were both sitting around a painting, and the one with bright red hair had open a sketch book. They both laughed at something unheard, and Bahorel was enchanted. Later she would dismiss it as sleep deprivation or something in this French air, but at that moment she couldn't remove her eyes from this stranger.

She shook her head and tried to get it out of her mind. Bahorel didn't like girls. She may have made out once with who she thinks was Stacy, but that didn't count. They were both piss drunk and needed a stress reliever.

Quickly dragged by the arm, both out of her thoughts and into the building, she was standing in front of the administration desk. The lady at the desk smiled warmly at her. They went through the usual administration, she was given the keys to her room in which her bag would already be waiting. She was handed her timetable, and explained the process of how things worked. "And finally, we need to get you fitted for a uniform. I'm sure Jehan can show you to the fitting rooms," the receptionist said.

This school had it's own fitting room, Bahorel would admit that she was at least a little excited excited. The following hour felt like a montage you'd see in a chick flick. Bahorel and Jean quickly became very good friends, sharing things about their lives.

Bahorel learned that she was from Paris, was an only child, and loved poetry. Her parents were both accountants, and so disapproved of her love of literature. Her grandmother was a French aristocrat, and she was paying for her school fees.

Jean listened intently as Bahorel explained about her own life. Her mother was a famous actress in Uruguay, and so she lived in the city of Montevideo. After getting paid a large sum of money to do a film in London, she sent her daughter to this French school to be slightly closer by. Bahorel loved being fit and her activity of choice was boxing. She played bass and piano, and could rap pretty damn well.

The hour passed quickly and soon enough she had her uniform all sorted, and Jean had to go to class. Her own didn't start until tomorrow, so until then she made her way to her room and began to unpack.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh tell me what you think, any sort of feedback is greatly greatly appreciated. this idea came to me a while back and took forever to plan and sort out. i've got an opening for a beta, i would even give you dumb au ideas and headcanons in return. thankyou so so much for reading in the first place!! hope to update soon <3 xx also quicker updates and/or inspirations for this fic on tumblr at bahorelsexual.tumblr.com


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